Angel of the Opera
by PaperBackWriter95
Summary: Warning: NOT a story for advocates of a Christine/ Phantom relationship. This is a tale which takes place immediately following Christine dumping Phantom for Raoul, detailing Erik's discovery of an "Angel of the Opera" in the attic.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, so reviews are appreciated but not necessary.**

**Disclaimer: And, of course, I own none of these characters (except for the Angel of the Opera, she's mine).**

Phantom gazed into the impenetrable darkness beneath the Paris Opera House, heart torn out by the immense betrayal he had just experienced at the hands of his one love. Christine Daae, the only woman he had ever truly felt affection for, had abandoned him, and Erik knew in his heart that she would not return. A swirl of emotions engulfed him that lonely night when she chose the other man over him: betrayal, depression, intense loathing. The Phantom kept replaying the scene from but a moment ago over and over in his head: Christine going with Raoul, returning only to give him the ring he'd offered her, the still-echoing sound of the lovers serenading each other as they drifted away in their boat. He had practically given his life for her, how could Christine have left him as she had? What would make her hate him so, as not to give him a second thought when choosing between he and the Vicomte? He sighed, already knowing the answer to those questions.

It was because of the murders. Yes, his physical deformity and Raoul's high social status played major parts as well, but he realized that no woman would want to spend her life with a murderer, the only reason they would being if they did not know. Unfortunately, Christine Daae *did* know, and also knew quite well that he had only killed when necessary, but that did not matter. She refused to have him, and that was the worst penance a man like him could ever receive.

He could hear the mob of people proceeding down into his caves, prepared to vanquish the evil living under the opera once and for all. Well, Phantom thought, sighing, let them come. It does not matter anymore, if Christine will be with *Raoul*. He glared over the lake: he could barely make out the shapes of Christine and her lover in his boat, sailing off to their happily ever after, leaving Erik alone and hurt. Funny how nobody wonders how the villain feels at the end of the fairy tale.

Suddenly, just as Phantom was about to give his life to the men and women in the impending mob, he heard a voice. It was high and soft, and the most lovely thing he had ever heard (which was certainly saying something, living under an opera house). The voice was singing, but the Phantom could not make out the words, if any were there in the first place. Nevertheless, it was a sad, haunting melody, the likes of which he had never heard before. Immediately, he was hypnotized by the sheer beauty of it, and glanced about as if to find the origin. However, he saw nothing that could cause such a melody as that, and realized that the mysterious singing was somewhat distant- in the opera house, of course, but in a far-off portion. The East Wing, or perhaps on a higher floor of the theatre.

Entranced, the Phantom looked around, searching for a means of escape. He *had* to find this voice, if not for his sake, for the singer's. A sound like that must *not* remain unnoticed, it would be criminal. The feelings of betrayal he had felt a second ago were forgotten upon hearing the spellbinding music, and Erik's musical side kicked in once more. In a flash, he saw a ladder a few feet away, the means of which he had used before to pass through a trapdoor and into the backstage area. Silently and deftly, he climbed up it and found himself behind the curtains, the actors and actresses bustling about, not paying any attention to the cloaked figure in their frantic quest to make it to their cues on time. Below him, the mob descended upon his hiding place.

Erik made his way calmly through the chaos and skimmed the crowd for the only person he knew that he could trust. Finally, he found her, giving quick advice to her daughter before young Meg had to return to the chorus.

"Madame Giry," Phantom said, coming up behind her. The poor woman almost jumped out of her skin.

"Oh, Monsieur, you startled me," she said, ushering him to a more private section of the theatre, "After that fiasco you caused onstage a few moments ago, I feared someone might have done you in by now. I am surprised to hear your voice again, but not unpleasantly so."

"Fortunately for myself," Erik said, "I know this theatre better than anyone else: escape comes very easily when I need it. Now, down to business. A moment ago, I heard a voice. It was the most wonderful I have ever heard- soft, yet strong, with a hypnotic quality to it. You must tell me whose it is, I would like to, ahem, assist them in their musical endeavors. Is it one of your dancers?"

Madame smiled fondly, "No, it is not a dancer. That voice, as legend has it, does not belong to any mortal creature."

"Oh?" Phantom asked, intrigued, "How so?" He backed behind a curtain, getting out of sight of a passing police officer on the hunt for him.

"According to the stories," Giry said, as if remembering a childhood fairytale, "The voice belongs to the Angel of the Opera. She is a fallen angel who lives in the attic of the opera house, trapped by another jealous angel or staying of her own free will, depending on which version of the tale you wish to believe. Every few nights, you can hear her singing to coincide with the beginning or end of an opera. Many say that this is her way of bestowing a blessing on the performance, ensuring it a good run or the actors' good fortune. However, as with any mysterious creature, there are some that will not believe in her. Many skeptics think that she is simply an undiscovered chorus member, but I assure you Monsieur, she is not one of mine. Others thought that it was Christine Daae, but now that her singing is heard more often, one can point out the differences in their voices." Erik nodded.

"Thank you, Madame," Phantom replied, "Now, you said that she lived in the attic?"

Giry's smile faltered slightly, "Indeed, but I do not believe it would be wise to go looking for the Angel of the Opera. As with most stories, those who go searching for the truth usually return disappointed, in more ways than one."

"I appreciate the warning," he replied, "However, it is against my moral obligations to allow a voice like that to remain in the shadows, no matter to whom it may belong. I hope you understand." He gave her a quick bow and turned to the left, "With that, I must be on my way." Before the Phantom of the Opera disappeared once more, Madame Giry said something that stopped him short.

"One more thing," she said, "If Mademoiselle Daae should come by asking for her Angel of Music, what shall I say?"

Erik's eyes narrowed, a cold, bitter hatred engulfing him like a wave, "If she asks," he said sharply, looking back, "Tell her that she no longer *has* an Angel of Music." Giry was about to respond, but, by the time she turned to face the Phantom head-on, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

To be perfectly honest, Phantom did not know exactly *where* to begin his search for the mysterious Angel of the Opera. After all, where *does* one begin to seek out a potentially metaphysical entity? Certainly not behind dressing room mirrors. However, he was able to come to some logical conclusions of her whereabouts. He was sure that this "Angel", if she was not a spiritual being, could not have yet retreated back to her attic hideaway: it had only been a couple minutes since he had heard the singing, and it would be rather difficult to make it from almost anywhere on the main floor to the storage area above the main theatre in such a short time, especially with police staking out the place like they were. After a second of careful deliberation, he felt the best place to start was where he initially thought the source of the sound was: the East Wing.

Thankfully for him, his assumption was correct. The East Wing, which was actually a secondary theatre to the one Christine had performed in earlier that night, was packed with opera-goers, all watching the final showing of "Faust" for the evening. Apparently, word hadn't spread to this portion of the opera house yet of the disaster "Don Juan Triumphant" had caused, as all were sitting calmly in their seats and watching the show. They paid no attention to the masked man as he entered the crowded room and surveyed his surroundings.

Finding his quarry would have been a difficult task in this mass of people, had he not heard her soft, almost inaudible singing from the boarded-up balcony above. He stole up the winding stairs to her location, and found her quickly. She was standing at the edge of the gallery, quietly singing the opera's lyrics as the soprano onstage vocalized them herself. The woman was clad in a long, grayish-bluish hooded robe that would have made her look like the Grim Reaper from the back, if she only had a scythe in her hands. She was entranced by the music, and was even reading the words out of a songbook.

"I didn't think people were supposed to be up here," Erik said, catching her off-guard, "But, since you're sent from God, I assume they make an exception?" She turned and looked at the Phantom, revealing her platinum blonde hair and stunningly gorgeous face. Now he knew why they called her an angel: all that was missing was a set of feathery wings.

"Oh, you startled me, Monsieur," she said in her hypnotic voice, "I did not realize that anyone else was up here." She gave him the once-over, "Are you a…?" She couldn't seem to find the right word, so she gestured to the stage, where the thespians had just begun the Garden scene.

"Actor?" The Phantom offered. He noticed something odd about the way she spoke. It was not seamless and flowing, like her singing was, but rather very deliberate, if not broken-sounding at times.

She nodded quickly, "Yes, that is right. Are you an actor? You look like one." She made a nod toward his outfit, and he remembered that he was still wearing his stage costume from earlier that night. The mask probably did not help matters.

"Oh, no," he replied, "Unfortunately I haven't the looks for being actor. I am the Phantom of the Opera, but, please, call me Erik." He bowed, and she gave an awkward curtsey. She gazed at him with pale blue eyes.

"Yes, I've heard about you," she said, "You caused the chandelier to fall a few months ago, did you not?" The Angel seemed to have been taken in by him, and any attention that might have been on the opera previously was all focused on Phantom. A certain sense of pride washed over Erik, but he did not let it show.

"Yes," he replied nonchalantly, "But what I really want to talk about tonight is you. Your voice is stunning, why haven't I ever heard it before?"

She arched an eyebrow, "Many say that you can only hear my song when you need it. Another explanation is that I usually do most of my singing in the attic. From underground, you may not be able to hear it. Believe whichever you wish." Off-handedly, he realized that both situations could fit him: he was both without a musical ward and too far-off to hear her siren call. It looked like fate had it all staked-out for a meeting.

"No matter the reason," Phantom pressed, realizing that this subject had made her grow decidedly quieter, "I *insist* you come with me to my home. When the police are done storming it, that is. I can give you a couple vocal pointers; help you improve the infinitesimal amount that you can; then help you receive a lead in an upcoming opera. I am positive the world would appreciate that." Her expression grew all the more reserved.

"They would not want me in a production," she said, a twinge of sadness in her voice, "Even if I were allowed out of my prison to perform, no audience would want to see *me* onstage when they could have your protégée, Mademoiselle Daae."

"Believe me," Erik said coldly, "Christine will no longer be wanting nor needing *my* services, if I were to even offer them to her again in the first place." His voice took on a kinder tone as he began to speak on a more pleasant topic again, "Besides, there would be *plenty* of people who would want to see you sing. Why, your voice is incredible, you carry yourself with a wonderful stage presence, your beauty is beyond compare: there are any *number* of reasons a person would feel honored to see you in show."

The Angel of the Opera looked at him, expression blank, "You would not be saying these things if you knew," she murmured, almost to herself. Before Phantom could question her any further, she turned and fled the balcony. Erik didn't bother trying to find her, knowing full well that she probably knew every inch of this opera house just as precisely as he did.

This encounter amplified his curiosity about her all the more. So many questions left unanswered, and so many more raised. However, Phantom was left at peace. Next time, he knew for a fact, *she* would come to find *him*.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine and Raoul entered her dressing room in a romantic flurry. Christine, brown hair ruffled and opera costume in lightly-battered condition from her experience beneath the opera house, had her boyfriend in her passionate embrace as the pair kissed vigorously. He swept her into the chair in front of the vanity.

"I cannot believe it!" Raoul said excitedly, adjusting the bow in his long mane, "We are finally rid of that monster for good!"

"I know!" Christine said, picking up a brush and running it through her hair, "Now there is nothing to stand in the way of our marriage." They kissed again. Already, Christine was beginning to feel a pattern forming in their relationship.

She set the brush down in order to throw her arms around the Vicomte, but her hand brushed up against something as it did so. She glanced down, and a look of horror came over her features. Raoul, noticing her distress, followed her gaze: a red rose with a black ribbon lay on the vanity. How had they not noticed that before, they wondered as they examined it. There was a note attached to the bow. The soprano picked it up and read it, face paling as she did so.

_Mademoiselle Daae,_

_ I must applaud you on your superb performance tonight. Publicly humiliating me must have been simply delightful, wasn't it? Unfortunately, you shall not be allowed to do so again. I am relieving you of my vocal services, as you have made it clear that you no longer need me anymore. I do not mind, I understand that you will want to spend time refining your voice on your own and being with your fiancé. However, that does not change the fact that we will likely be parted for good from now on. Furthermore, I would appreciate it if you do not try to contact me anytime in the future. It is of a great annoyance to be interrupted in my work to entertain someone as irritating as you and/ or your little boyfriend. I am sure you would be pleased to hear that I have a new pupil on my hands, so when you hear singing that is ten times better than yours could ever hope to be, that's her. Expect no more roses. I hope I am never required to interact with you ever again, and tell Raoul to die in a well in a far off place._

_Sincerely, OG_

Christine allowed the paper to fall from her hands, eyes wide and jaw slack. The Phantom had found *another* singer to replace her? And in such a short time? How could he do such a thing to her, at the height of her career? She made these thoughts known to Raoul, who responded with anger.

"This is totally unfair of him!" he cried, eyes blazing, "He cannot simply *withdraw* his services, you *need* them! How else does he expect you to improve? That is *very* selfish of him, indeed."

"Perhaps he's just jealous," Christine offered, the hope in her voice weak, "Let's see if we can have Madame Giry try him in a few days. He may just be angry that we are together now."

After a moment, Raoul nodded, but he still seemed uneasy, "Fine, we will give him two days to reinstate your singing lessons and to come back on good terms with us. If there is one person that you do not wish to make enemies with, it is Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny!"

"Pardon my asking, Monsieur," a voice said from the doorway, "But what defense do *you* have against the Phantom of the Opera? If your actions from earlier this night are any indication, you stand no chance against him."

"Madame Giry!" Christine exclaimed, happy to see her longtime mother-figure after such a turbulent evening, "My goodness, we were just talking about you!"

"I know," the woman said, entering the room with the same regal air she always carried, "And, in response to your earlier assumption, the Phantom is not jealous, not anymore. Other pursuits have filled the void you have left for him; you two need not fear an Opera Ghost with too much time on his hands."

Raoul stepped in, "Yes, I figured as much. He left us a note, stating that he has acquired a new protégée. Certainly this cannot be accurate?"

A fond smile played on Giry's lips, "Ah, I believe he has, Monsieur. After realizing how unlikely it would be for Christine to return to him, he chose to follow a promising new talent. And, by the sound of her voice, it is likely she will be offered many lead roles once he has finished with her."

"But what about Christine?" Raoul asked, almost frantic, "He will ruin her chance to become famous! What about her career?"

"I do not believe that the Phantom has any interest for pupils who deny him," Giry replied, expression turning cold, "As for her career, if you wanted a famous bride, Vicomte, you should have married someone with your social status, not a soprano with an uncertain future." With that, Madam turned and briskly walked out the door, presumably off to tend to her dancers. Christine turned to Raoul.

"What do we do now?" she asked meekly.

"I suppose," Raoul said, determination written on his face, "We find your Opera Ghost's new toy."


	4. Chapter 4

After her meeting with the self-proclaimed "Phantom of the Opera", the "angel" walked away from the East Wing, feeling rather disheartened. During the time the pair had spoken, she had allowed herself to indulge in fantasies of becoming a famous opera singer one day, of being adored by many, of being able to leave the attic forever. Once she had fled, however, the cold wave of reality hit her like a typhoon: none of that could ever happen. Even if she found a way to leave her captivity permanently, someone would find out her secret eventually, and that would be the ruin of her. She gently touched the skin of her back, in an effort to further distinguish reality from fantasy. She winced in doing so: the line between the two was drawn loud and clear.

Miserably, she made her way back up to the attic, weaving through numerous police officers on the hunt for the Phantom while doing so. She prayed to God that her jailer had been late coming to check on her, but she knew in her heart that he had not: he was *always* on time, to make sure escapes like this never happened. Hopefully it wasn't one of his bad days. Last time she had left on one of those, she was beaten so badly that she still carried most of the scars. She found her way to the ladder hidden backstage of the main theatre and began to climb up it, pleading under her breath for the best. Before she made it to the top, the trapdoor swung open, and her jailer stood looking down upon her, furious expression on his face. She sighed in relief. It was one of his good days.

"If I've told you once," he barked, "I have told you a *thousand* times! You must *never* leave the attic! What were you thinking? What would have happened if someone had seen you?"

She hung her head in shame, but didn't say a word. The jailer had no idea that she had learned how to speak over years of listening to operas being performed beneath her, and would like to keep it that way. To him, she was simply a dumb animal that he was forced to take care of.

"If you were any smarter," he continued without missing a beat as she climbed the remaining ladder rungs and sat down on the attic floor, "I would have probably chained you up and have you beaten daily for your insolence before this. However, given your condition, they told me that it would be "inhumane" to do so. Thankfully, I don't know the meaning of the word anymore." He leaned in toward her, rancid breath encircling her face, "Prepare for the worst year of your life, Monster." She flinched at being called the nickname he'd given her so many years ago. He then dragged her, unresisting, over to the wall, onto which he bound her hands and feet.

"Twenty years…" he said, walking over to his box of torture devices and picking out a particularly nasty-looking cat-o-nine-tails, "Since you were born, I have had to put up with you and you rebelliousness. Why can't you realize that you are not allowed in the outside world? You aren't *like* them." She remained ever silent, but couldn't help feeling a bit like Quasimodo from Hugo's "The Hunchback of Notre Dame", one of the few novels she was able to swipe from the actors on a trip backstage. Trapped on the top floor of an immensely famous building by an evil guard, escaping only to end back in their prison with more bruises than they began with, encountering an equally-controversial member of the opposite sex whilst out of their cage… It could suit either of them to a "T".

"It's a shock," he said, drawing back his arm, "That I haven't just killed you yet and gone on with my life." He struck her once. She yelped, careful not to say an intelligible word that may land her in more trouble than she already was in.

"Then again," he said thoughtfully, striking her twice more, "That would leave me out of a job, and I certainly wouldn't be able to keep hanging around here without one of *those*, could I?" He struck her again, and she sighed, not so much out of the pain she'd since grown mostly accustomed to, but moreso out of the knowledge that she was going to have to wash and mend her robe later, a difficult process given that she was provided little water and no sewing kit.

"However," the man continued to ponder, almost forgetting that he was torturing a woman, "I *could* always acquire a job as a janitor or something. I love this old place, couldn't bear to let it go. What do you think, Monster? Should I kill you and take a new job here, or keep you alive and continue to watch over you?" Again, she would not speak. He struck her twice more, then put down the whip, "I think that will be enough for today, Mademoiselle. After all, you have another 364 days of this coming; I can let you off easy the first day. Remember, I'll be back in four hours to check up on you." He laughed to himself, probably at her expense, as he left the attic, down the ladder that she had used only a moment ago. The trap door shut, and she was alone.

Thankfully, she had prepared for this. She stood and walked as far as her chains would allow, over to a loose board. She pulled it back, revealing her stash of possessions that she had gathered over the years. A lost script here, some spare sheet music there, it all added up over time, giving her a base for learning how to read and speak, luxuries that her jailer wouldn't dream of giving her. Underneath the small pile of papers lay a key ring she had managed to take from the jailer when he wasn't paying attention. On that ring, she was sure, was the key to her chains. After a brief period of searching, she located the correct key and freed herself. She stood and began to pace the attic noiselessly.

The Angel of the Opera began to, once again, ponder her encounter with Erik, but in a different light. She knew that his plan to make her an operatic sensation was absurd, given her… ailment. Her hand twitched to her back again. Although, it would not hurt to ask to stay with him, would it?

That had, in the beginning, been her major deterrent against escaping her prison forever: she had the means, but she would have nowhere to stay once she was gone. She couldn't hide out on the main floor forever: she would be quickly and easily captured, humiliated, and sent back to her prison, or worse. She had also always known that there was *something* down in the cellar of the opera house, something that might not appreciate an unexpected guest if she chose that as her refuge. However, *now* that she knew the man – or whatever the Phantom was – was a benign entity (at least, towards her), it was a very practical place to seek shelter.

At the very least, she thought to herself, Erik deserved to know of my refusal to become a singer. Thus, she gathered as many belongings as she could in the skirt of her robe, and began the long descent down to the caverns beneath the opera house.

Away from her prison.

Away from her chains.

Away from her jailer of a father.


	5. Chapter 5

In the span of three hours, the mob of thespians and the proceeding police department had all managed to clear the caverns beneath the Paris Opera House, since they obviously found nothing but candles, an organ and this somewhat creepy mannequin of Christine Daae in a wedding dress. This last item the police confiscated, not as if Erik even wanted it around anymore. However, it was unfortunate that he was unable to hold a ritual burning ceremony of the thing, *that* would have been fantastic. Thankfully, though, the rest of the Phantom's lair remained intact, and he was able to return to it as if nothing ever happened.

However, he couldn't help but think with bitter amusement about what *had* happened. His thoughts unwillingly kept going back to Christine, her harsh rejection and the pain he'd felt immediately afterward. He would begin to question himself: could he have done something more for her, something to make her love him as he had adored her? What had he done wrong to make her fall for *Raoul*, of all people? Each time this happened, he forced himself to recall what had occurred afterward, the Angel's beautiful voice and the impending lessons to come. After all, despite her earlier rejection, he saw a spark in her eyes when he mentioned coming to sing with him. Whether it was the allure of the stage which caused that reaction or something else entirely, he knew that she would accept his proposal.

And accept his proposal she did.

Half an hour after Phantom had returned to his home, he heard soft, unsure footsteps echoing through the caves. Immediately, he knew to whom they belonged, and set out to locate the Angel of the Opera and bring her safely to his hideout. He knew exactly how confusing and dangerous the tunnels were, and it wouldn't do to have his newfound protégée become lost in the chaos of it all. Or worse.

Oddly enough, though, as soon as he reached the start of the tunnel leading to the more widely-used entrance (the one that is closest to the lake), he stopped. His keen sense of hearing picked up her tread coming all the nearer, a logical impossibility, given the literal labyrinth of passageways that must be navigated to reach his home. That was, in truth, the reason he had picked that spot to set up base: it was directly beneath the main stage, and the likelihood of a curious chorus member making their way to it was very, very small. Except here the Angel was, almost to the mouth of the main cavern, in the middle of a network that had taken the Phantom himself half a decade to figure out. Perhaps there was something supernatural about her, after all.

A moment later, the Angel of the Opera staggered into his home, looking quite worse for wear. Her light blonde hair was in a mess, she looked like she had been crying, it was apparent that she had been beaten pretty badly by someone, her clothes were ripped in numerous places, and she was carrying some rather… unconventional objects in her skirt. There was a gaping tear in the back of her robes, revealing something quite odd on her back. However, Erik didn't bring it up. He wouldn't be one to talk about deformities. Instead, he enquired about her health in general.

"How did this happen?" he asked, genuine concern showing as he gestured to her numerous cuts and bruises, "Do you need any help? You can tell me if you do, I can have Giry send a doctor."

She shook her head, putting on a brave face, "No, I am fine. I… ran into trouble earlier. Never fear, I do not plan to see the aggressor ever again."

Erik smiled, and put on an air of hospitality, "That's wonderful. Now, I suppose you've come for my voice lessons?"

She flushed, "About that… I was wondering if I would be able to stay here. You see, the man who beat me had been keeping me locked in the attic for so long, and I am not able to stand being there anymore. Should I return, I face another year of strict punishment at his hands, and a lifetime of captivity. May I stay with you? Please?" This caught Phantom off-guard. He hadn't known that she was being abused. Perhaps the "angel being held by demon" version of her tale wasn't so far from the truth.

"Of course you may stay," he said, "I couldn't allow you to be trapped like that. Some other people, yes, but not you. You're innocent."

The Angel sank into one of the moods that seemed to pass over her every so often, "I know many that would argue that."

"Who?" he demanded, angry that a creature as lovely and kind as this (from what he had gathered, anyway) could be hated so much as to be held in captivity and attacked periodically.

"My parents, for one," she replied, then stayed silent. Erik nodded. He could easily relate to that: his own mother couldn't bear the sight of him, even as a child. He'd lived his entire life being scorned and loathed, and realized that she might feel the same way. Why, he didn't know, but that didn't seem like the kind of question for the moment.

"Anyway," he continued, changing the subject, "You may stay, but I *insist* that you take a vocal lesson or two from me, at least for a week. Your singing is incredible, and I would like very much to see you star in an opera, for more reasons than one." He knew that he was being hard on Mademoiselle Daae, especially since she was not a *bad* singer, but he did feel that having the Angel upstage her would be an incredibly fulfilling experience.

She seemed to hesitate, "I do not know," she said slowly, "I am not sure if I want people watching me sing. What if I am no good? What if my jailer recognizes me from the audience? What if they see…?" She trailed off, but Phantom could guess that she was referring to whatever she believed to be wrong with her: some deformity or oddity that Erik had yet to make out.

"Trust me, Angel," Phantom said with a defensive edge in his voice, "I will not allow anything to happen to you."

Hearing the sincerity in his voice, she nodded, "Fine," she said after a moment, "I shall take your lessons, for a week. After that, I will see how I feel about the opera." Erik smiled. This was going to be a good seven days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Before I begin, I'd like to thank everybody who has taken time out of their busy schedule to review! I appreciate the support immensely!**

**Additional Author's Note: And, again, the only one here I "own" is Angel, which means that all of the other characters, plays and the song used in this chapter aren't mine.**

Erik sat down on the bench of his organ and tapped a middle-c on the keyboard, "Can you sing this?" Angel looked a little nervous, and shifted uncomfortably. It had been about fifteen minutes since she had arrived at his home, giving her just enough time to set her meager belongings in a safe corner and change out of her damaged robes and into an old opera costume. She had been wary of him taking her only true article of clothing, but Phantom assured her that he would return them as soon as they could, after having them washed and mended. For some reason, the Angel of the Opera trusted him, and had given up her clothes in favor of a lovely yet conservative ball gown that had been used only once before, in a performance long since forgotten. Of course, Phantom would do his best to find her a more… practical outfit, but, for now, the dress would have to do.

"Don't worry," he pressed gently when she remained silent, "Nobody will be able to hear you down here. Believe me, I would be in trouble if they could." He did his best to sound reassuring, but couldn't help feeling a little ticked-off at her refusal of him. After all, she *at least* owed him this, for allowing her to stay in his home. He tapped the note thrice, willing her to sing. However, Angel continued to be quiet.

Finally, Erik sighed and sat back, "Is there something the matter? You were singing perfectly earlier, what's wrong now?"

"It is… different when I know that someone is listening to me sing," she said, voice pained, "I sincerely apologize, but this is so… new to me."

Phantom nodded, realizing that she had never had a vocal lesson before, "Well, why don't we try this, then? I will start to sing a piece, then you pick up where I leave off. How does that sound?"

She nodded quickly, "That would be much better." It was clear that she didn't mind singing, as long as there was someone else to start her off.

"Alright, then," Phantom nodded, and hit a key on the piano to get himself into tune. He carefully handed her part of the score from "Don Juan Triumphant": the piece in question being the song that ended in disaster when Christine decided that it was a good time to let everyone know what the Phantom of the Opera looked like under his mask. Hopefully, this time around wouldn't end with so much disappointment. He chose to begin at the third verse in, to allow the Angel maximum singing time. She read the lyrics to herself as he began to sing:

"Past the point of no return,

The final threshold.

What warm unspoken secrets will we learn,

Beyond the point of no return?"

With that, Angel realized her cue, and Phantom began to play along on the organ with her.

"You have brought me  
Through that moment where words run dry,  
Through that moment where speech disappears into silence,  
Silence.  
I have come here  
Fully knowing the reason why.  
In my mind I've already imagined  
Our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent.  
And now I am here with you, no second thoughts.  
I've decided... decided."

She stopped singing, and turned to Erik, "I apologize, I cannot go on."

Phantom stopped playing, "Why not? You were doing *flawlessly*."

Angel shook her head, "I do not know, most other pieces I can sing without hesitation, but… Something is different about this one. It feels like it was written for another, as if I am desecrating something sacred in singing it in their place. I hope you understand what I am trying to say." Phantom paled. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

He nodded slowly, "I understand perfectly, you don't need to sing any more of that song."

She smiled and nodded, "Thank you, Monsieur. Is there something else you need me to sing instead? Perhaps something from "Il Muto"? I do enjoy that one."

"No, no," he said, sitting back again, "I know the trouble already. The only problem you have with your singing is that it is too *soft*. You need a bit more *power* behind it, to make you really shine. Not to say that your voice as is couldn't compare to a heavenly choir, but, if you and I could work on it just a bit more, then there is no opera house in the *world* that wouldn't want you as the lead soprano."

Her face flushed with excitement, "You really think that? Even… as I am?"

"Well," Erik said, standing, "Considering that I don't even know what's *wrong* with you in the first place, I would not be one to judge. However, I can tell you this: if a pachyderm came in with a voice like yours and auditioned, Andre and Firmin would be scrambling to find an elephant outfitter."

Angel squealed with delight and came closer to him, taking his hand, "Thank you so much for your kind words, you have no idea how you make me feel. Perhaps… *this* could explain things better." Before he knew what she was doing, Angel leaned in and kissed him lightly on the forehead. It wasn't an extremely romantic gesture, but it took Phantom's breath away nevertheless. He had been afraid that this sort of thing would happen, fearing that any sort of romance between he and Angel might remind him of Christine's parting kiss. However… this was different. Angel's kiss awakened an entirely different set of emotions altogether. Her kiss was a display of trust and dependence, rather than Mademoiselle Daae's show of self-sacrifice. It almost felt as if Angel were *giving* herself to him, an absurd notion, if he thought about it. But there it was.

Erik still had not recovered from his shock when she gathered the belongings that she'd stowed in the corner, "I am going to find a place to sleep for the night, I believe I saw a bed over yonder that is unoccupied." She was walking away when she added, almost as an afterthought, "By the way, I did not know that you could sing so well, Monsieur. You have so much talent as well… You should come sing with me, after you make me a "star". Together, we would make quite a… duo, is what I think you call it." She smiled in a joking manner and proceeded off to her sleeping quarters, unaware of the emotional whirlwind she had just awakened in him.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the next day when Christine and Raoul embarked upon their hunt to find Phantom's new pupil. The Vicomte was still furious at the Opera Ghost for halting Christine's lessons, and he couldn't wait to track down whichever sorry dog was foolish enough to take lessons from a monster like *him*. Raoul's only consolation was that Phantom's judgment of his new protégée's voice was probably *very* exaggerated: there was no way *anyone* could find someone as talented as he claimed at such short notice. She was probably nothing more than a chorus girl he'd offered singing lessons to after Raoul had gone off with Christine.

However, Christine wasn't so sure that Erik had picked just *any* girl out of the crowd. She knew that he was very serious about his students, and wouldn't take on a talentless dancer simply to show up her and Raoul. No, she was positive that all the Phantom had written in his letter was quite accurate, and began to rightfully fear for her singing career. It was hard enough landing a role with Carlotta in the way, how could she ever do so sans Phantom's assistance and with even more competition?

She began to feel angry at Phantom. Why had he made such a big deal about her choosing Raoul over him? If he had paid attention to her *at all* in the preceding six months, he would have realized that she and Raoul had already been engaged. Why did he make it so hard for her to stay happy? She glanced up nervously at her soon-to-be husband. Then again, the Vicomte wasn't making the transition very easy, either.

Her mind then returned to the subject at hand. Christine didn't know what Raoul's plans were for Erik's pupil, but she knew that they had to *find* her first, a task that would have been rather difficult if the answer hadn't tapped her future husband on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Monsieur?" a flustered and rather sweaty man addressed Raoul, coming up behind them, "May I ask you something?" The man looked to be in his mid-to-late forties, and was dressed in brown, blood-specked garments. This worried the soprano a little, but she didn't let it show.

Raoul turned and appraised him, then, thinking that there was no harm in responding, said, "Yes, you may. What do you want?"

"Have you seen a young woman?" came the quick reply, "Average height, quite pale with almost-white hair? She's… my daughter," he said this last word with contempt, "And I'm supposed to look after her. She has disappeared, though, and I can't find her in any of her usual hiding places. I was hoping that *somebody* may have seen her."

Christine and Raoul exchanged a look, "Tell me," Raoul said slowly, "Can this young woman sing well?"

The stranger stared at them, confusion on his face, "Yes, how did you know? Did you see her?"

"No," Raoul said, fairly confident that he had found the Phantom's protégée, "But I have an idea."

The man breathed a sigh of relief, "Good. I wouldn't want anyone to see her out here. It might cause a panic."

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, "Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick or something?"

The man's expression grew dark, "No, Mademoiselle, it is worse than that. She's a two-faced witch, that girl is. On first glance, you may think she's the most beautiful woman to grace this opera house. Once you see past that beauty, though, you will see how truly horrendous she *really* is. If you see her, contact me *immediately*. She's like a wild animal, she is. Not to be handled if you're unprepared."

"We shall let you know if we see her," Raoul nodded, "And, in turn, you tell us if she turns up."

"Sure thing," the man said, turning to walk away, "Good day to the both of you." Just like that, Raoul and Christine were alone.

"Looks like *that* lead is out the window," Raoul mumbled, leaning against the wall to think.

"Well, I don't know," Christine said, worry painting her usually serene features, "He *did* say that she was a good singer, and that she was quite pretty. Raoul, what if Erik *did* take the woman in that the man told us about? What if he's in trouble?" Christine didn't know why she was so worried about Phantom. After all, didn't he just abandon her in favor of another woman? But… he *had* saved her from a lifetime of singing in the shadows, and had done many wonderful things for her during the period where she didn't know which man she truly wanted. She still loved Raoul more, of course, but perhaps, *perhaps*, she and Phantom could be "just friends"?

"I'm sure Phantom can fend for himself," Raoul replied, "After all, he's a crafty fellow. Besides, we aren't even sure if that woman really is the one we are looking for. For all we know, he could have taken an unknown chorus member, like he did with you, and this disappearance is a mere coincidence. *We* would never know the difference."

"But Madam Giry would," Christine suggested, "Why don't we ask her if anyone is inexplicably missing today? If not, then we know who it is, and we save Phantom from her!" Christine suddenly felt embarrassed, advocating her former-mentor in front of her future husband, "Er, save *her* from *Phantom*." Raoul did not seem to notice the slip-up.

"Good idea," he said, straightening his posture, "We'll go ask Giry. If there isn't anyone missing, then we will know who we're after and track her down. Once we do that, we will give her a stern talking-to, make her leave the Phantom, and then he shall come crawling back to you."

"What do you mean, "a stern talking-to"?" Christine asked, "If she's as dangerous as her father said, shouldn't we simply kick her out of the opera house and be done with it?"

"Well," Raoul shrugged, "There is always the chance that he was lying." Christine frowned a little. Suddenly, the idea of rescuing Erik from the woman seemed less noble if she turned out to be harmless. Nevertheless, she nodded.

"You may be right," she said, "I apologize, this entire affair just seems so odd to me. It feels like it should be I who has been taken by Erik, not some other woman; it should be the entire company on the hunt for her, not just us."

Raoul gave her a light smile, "Don't worry about it, the feeling will pass," he said, and then gestured to the main theatre, "Come, let us go find Madame Giry now. No doubt she's already out there, drilling her dancers into the ground." He held out his hand and Christine slowly took it. He began to lead her toward the stage, and, hopefully, toward some answers.


	8. Chapter 8

Angel was already awake and pacing the cavern floor by the time Phantom got up the next day. He was groggy from the long night he'd had, and was finding it hard to fathom that Christine had run off with Raoul and he'd invited Angel to stay with him all within a few hours. He snapped to alert, though, when the Angel began to sing. It was the same wordless melody that he had heard the first time, and was curious as to where it was from. No opera that *he* had ever heard, at least.

"Tell me," he said, "Where did you hear that tune?" Realizing that he'd startled the poor girl, he continued, "I apologize for scaring you."

"It is no trouble," she said quickly, "And, no, I did not hear that tune from anyone."

"You composed it yourself?" Erik asked, intrigued. Angel shot him a confused glance, and he clarified, "That is, did you write it? Did you make it up?"

A look of understanding came over her face, "Oh. Yes, I did. Why do you ask?"

Phantom shrugged, "I was curious. Do you think that I might be able to use it in the future? In an opera, perhaps?" Her eyes lit up.

"Yes, you may," Angel said, excitement in her voice, "That would be lovely!" Yes, it was perfectly clear to him now: even if his Angel had a little stage fright, she *did* have a passion for the performing arts. Not as if he hadn't figure that out before, though.

Phantom smiled, "Thank you." He walked over to his desk to make a note of having been given permission to use the haunting song when he glanced at the calendar, "Oh, it's Friday."

"So?" the Angel of the Opera asked, eyes trained upon her mentor.

"Messieurs Andre and Firmin," the Opera Ghost said, turning back to her, "Have money they owe. Would you like to come with me to retrieve it?" She looked a little wary. She probably hadn't spent much time on the main floor of the Paris Opera House, and was likely to be nervous at the prospect of journeying up to the place where her captor was doubtless looking for her. Phantom tried to reassure her.

"Don't worry," he said calmly, "It will only take a moment, and it isn't likely we will run into anyone you know. Trust me, I am a wanted criminal to almost everyone up there, and even then I am still able to roam the theatre at my leisure. If *I* can go about uncaught with an entire theatre company looking for me, don't you think that *you* can survive a ten-minute trip with only one person on your trail?"

She looked hesitant, but eventually nodded, "I will go," she said, "As long as you swear that you won't let anybody catch me."

"I won't," Erik promised, and lead her through the trapdoor and onto the main floor.

Phantom carefully navigated the halls and theatres of the Opera House, careful to remain unseen by the actors, actresses, lingering police officers and opera-goers that were constantly moving from one place to another. He could tell that, with each step they took, Angel was relaxing further: a good sign for him. After all, if she became more comfortable up here, among the crowds, she may not be as paranoid about singing onstage in front of these same people later on.

In only a matter of minutes, the pair had made it to Madame Giry's room. Phantom knocked twice, paused, and then knocked once more: a signal to let her know in advance that it wasn't simply a chorus girl calling in sick. The older woman opened the door immediately, signature cane in one hand and a thick envelope in the other. She appraised them both before ushering them inside.

"You're late," she chastised Erik lightly, "You have never been late before."

"I've never had to slow down for another person before," he replied. Suddenly, he realized that his comment could easily be seen in a negative light, but it didn't look like Angel noticed the slur.

"Good point," Giry replied, and held out the envelope, "Here is your twenty-thousand francs, Monsieur, with an added ten-thousand for your "performance" last night."

"Thank you, Madame," Phantom said, "You'll never know how much your services mean to me."

"It is the least I can do," came the simple reply. Then, the conversation turned to his partner, "I take it this is the "angel" that you asked me about yesterday?"

"Indeed it is," Phantom said, "I found her after meeting with you and asked her to sing for me. She accepted, and I have already begun voice lessons. She really doesn't have much more to learn, though."

Angel blushed, "I just try to copy what the actors do onstage. It is the only way I have ever learned." Giry raised an eyebrow at her abnormal speech patterns, but said nothing of it.

"Can I expect to hear you sing soon?" Madame asked, addressing the Angel, "I see you're already in costume for it." She gestured to the ball gown that the girl hadn't bothered to change out of that morning, for lack of other clothing options.

"I have not made up my mind yet," she replied, glancing briefly at Erik, "It depends on how I feel when we are finished."

Giry nodded, "Fair enough. I *do* hope that I will be able to see you perform sometime, Mademoiselle. Now, however, I must begin morning rehearsals with my dancers. They have been growing rather lazy lately, and I must put a stop to such behavior. If you will excuse me, Monsieur, Mademoiselle." She gave a short nod to both of them, then walked out of the room.

"See?" Erik asked Angel as they exited, heading back to the caves under the Opera, "That wasn't so bad."

"No, it was not," she replied lightly, "Thank you for showing me that. Every other time I have had to walk these halls, I have either been running from my father or was being escorted back to my prison by the same man. Both of those were unhappy circumstances, leaving me with painful memories of most of these spots." Suddenly, she stopped cold, a look of icy fear washing over her face, "Mon Dieu."

"What's wrong?" Phantom asked defensively, glancing about. All he saw were actors and what looked like a couple of stage hands, as they were in a backstage area. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"It is *him*," Angel said in a small voice, now cowering behind Phantom and pointing to one of the stage hands, "My keeper. He is looking for me, I know it, and he will force me back into the attic if he sees me!" She was shaking, and Phantom could see a few thespians stop and stare, wondering if something was wrong.

"Don't worry," he said darkly, "I will take care of him." Angrily, he walked over to the man she had pointed out, who, up to this point, had been talking with the other stage hand. Now that he noticed Phantom, he seemed to tense, and the other man walked away, as if sensing the impending storm.

"Yes?" the man asked, adjusting his brown shirt, "May I help you, Monsieur?" Phantom couldn't help but think that his outfit looked like that of a butcher.

"Indeed, you can," Erik responded, voice cold, "I heard you were on the hunt for a young girl, maybe twenty? She has light blonde hair, pretty face, blue eyes?"

The man looked excited, "Yes! Have you seen her? I watch over her, and she disappeared last night and hasn't returned."

"I have," Phantom said, eyes burning. The man grew fearful, and Phantom continued, "If you so much as lay a finger on Angel, then I will make sure that day will be your last. Cease your search for her, and tell all that might know of her that you found her dead. Do you understand?"

The man looked afraid, but gathered his courage to reply, "So she's got you under her spell, too, eh?"

The Opera Ghost slammed him up against the wall, "What do you mean by *that*?" he growled, "And be careful, your next words may seal your fate."

The man continued, boldness apparently overriding his sense of self-preservation, "That woman you seem so fond of, she hypnotizes you, get you under her spell. You're an actor, right? You probably saw her down here a couple nights ago, and offered to let her stay at your place. Let me tell you *this*: once you see what she *truly* is, nothing else about her – not her pretty face, not her big blue eyes, not her blonde hair – will matter. You're going to hate her, like I do, and you will hurry to send her back to me. I've seen it happen before, it will happen to you as well."

"You're very brave for a stage hand, aren't you?" Phantom said, complete and utter loathing in his voice, "Wait, no, you are no stage hand. In fact, you don't even *work* in the theatre, do you? If you did, you would very well know that I am *no* actor. If you hadn't just cost yourself your life, I would report you to the managers." Erik gave the man a terrible, soul-obliterating glare, "I *will* be back." With that, he released the terrified man from his grasp and proceeded back to the caverns with his Angel in tow.


	9. Chapter 9

Raoul and Christine ran into Madame Giry almost immediately after Phantom and Angel departed the stage. She was in the middle of an informal rehearsal, and had her eyes trained on the dancers. The woman didn't seem surprised to see them, and hardly looked up as the pair approached.

"I see you two have returned," she said, carefully watching the chorus, then added with a sarcastic tone, "I can only wonder why."

"I am going to be brief, Madame," Raoul said, "Are any of your students missing inexplicably? Believe me, this is a matter of great importance to us, as it may involve-."

"The Phantom of the Opera?" Giry finished, "I *knew* you would try something like this, Vicomte. No, none of my dancers are gone, which is just as well, considering that Phantom did not take in one of them."

"Do you know who he *did* take, then?" Christine asked, a twinge of worry in her voice. Neither of the other two noticed that the emotion was for Erik as opposed to her career.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell them," Giry muttered to herself, then addressed the duo before her, "She is called the Angel of the Opera, and spent her days mostly alone in the attic prior to Phantom saving her from a life in darkness. Because of her wonderful voice, he decided last night to tutor her. According to him, it would be a crime to let such a voice go to waste, and I believe it."

"This "Angel"," Raoul pressed, "She wouldn't happen to have light hair, be of average height and pale, would she?" He recalled the description the man had given them only a short while prior.

"Why, yes," Giry responded, a confused look on her face, "How did you know?" Christine and Raoul exchanged worried looks.

"Her father told us that she was dangerous," Christine said.

"Yes," the Vicomte continued, "And we wouldn't want another monster prowling the Opera House, would we? The man made her out to be some devilish creature from the very depths of Satan's realm, and it would probably be a good idea to get rid of her, if that is the case."

"Well," Madame Giry replied, "I certainly do not know her as well as her father does, but she did not seem dangerous in the least when I saw her a moment ago. If I were you, Monsieur, I would choose carefully who to believe. The innocent are frequently hurt unjustly out of another's drive for revenge."

Raoul looked at her for a moment, then nodded, "Thank you for letting us know. We will allow you to get back to your dancers now."

"Thank you," Giry said, "And I pray that you two know what you are getting into. Realize that the Phantom of the Opera is not someone you cross paths with if you aren't on his good side. Even if you find the worst about the Angel is accurate, it would be inadvisable to tell him yourselves, unless you wish to feel the full force of his rage." She turned her back on them and went back to keeping an eye on the chorus's rehearsal, indicating that the conversation was over. Raoul and Christine began to walk away.

"What are we going to do now?" Christine asked, "That is, I assume our next course of action is to find this "Angel of the Opera" and try to convince her to leave the Phantom, but how are we going to do that? I mean, no matter what we do, it's a no-win situation: we find out she is as dangerous as claimed, and we are dead; we find out that she is docile, convince her to leave, and Erik will undoubtedly do something to ruin us; we cannot convince her to leave him, she tells Phantom and we face a permanent state of mistrust from him."

"I see no other alternative," Raoul said, shaking his head and walking in the direction of the common entrance to the underground caverns, "If we do not proceed, your future is at stake." He stopped and gripped her shoulder with both hands, "Never forget, Christine, that I am doing this for *you* and your career. If I loved you any less, I wouldn't bother walking into the depths of the Phantom's lair to track down a potentially dangerous woman to allow you to continue singing. However, I do not, so I shall. For you."

Christine nodded uneasily, "I know." She could tell that he was being sincere about his love for her, but… his motives still seemed misplaced. He kept talking about how he was only going after this Angel because it was in her best interests, but then why did it seem like he was taking it so personally? Yes, she worried for her career, yet, if the Angel *was* better than she, her moral side told her, then would she not *deserve* a lead role more often than herself? But the Vicomte did not care what was fair or unfair, apparently. That thought reminded her bitterly of how Phantom had treated her early on: Christine *had* to have the part, and if she didn't, heads would roll. The only difference was that, in Phantom's case, those thoughts *were* reasonable: Carlotta was indeed *not* a good singer, whereas in this case, Angel allegedly was. Christine frowned. She didn't know what to make of it.

Raoul released her and they began walking once more, "We aren't even sure if this paranoia is warranted," he mused, "Despite claims to the contrary, this "Angel of the Opera" may not really be as good as everyone thinks. For all we know, the acoustics in the attic simply make it *sound* like she is good, while she is only really mediocre. Why, we don't even know if your singing career is actually in-." Raoul stopped and stared straight ahead, looking at the exact thing that Christine had noticed half a second before. There, at the entrance to the underground caves, was a rope suspended from the ceiling.

A rope with a man attached to the end of it.

The Angel's father.

"Apparently," Christine said, throat dry, "The Angel's voice is enough to kill over, at least." Raoul seemed to regain his composure.

"Come," he said, taking a shocked Christine's hand and leading her past the body, "We cannot turn back now." Suddenly, a note fluttered down from above. Mademoiselle Daae knelt down and picked it up.

"'If you dare touch the Angel'," she read, "'The same fate shall befall you. ~ O. G.'" She looked up from the note, "Are you *sure* we should go on?"

Raoul's expression hardened, "I've seen this trick of his before," he said dismissively, continuing down into the caves, "He will not scare *me* off so easily. *You*, however, may be another question." Still wary but not wanting to seem afraid, Christine followed him, down into the darkness beneath the Paris Opera House.

**Author's Note: In case you didn't notice, because I plan on making this just a tad more violent in the future, I have increased the rating on this story to "T", just to play it safe.**


	10. Chapter 10

Angel walked about the caverns beneath the Opera House aimlessly, feeling light and cheerful. Everything had gone so *right* for her lately! First, she was rescued from her attic prison, then given vocal lessons from the admittedly handsome Phantom of the Opera, and now she was to live here, about as far from her former-jail as possible! She felt like quite the princess.

Her thoughts went back to her savior, Erik. She had been wondering for quite a while now as to why he was always wearing that mask. The day prior, she didn't question it, in case it was simply an accessory to his outfit and nothing more. However, now that she noticed him *still* wearing it, she had to ask herself what reason he would have for doing so. Of course, there was always the possibility that it was for fashion's sake, but what if it was for some other reason, such as hiding a deformity? Secretly, Angel hoped for the latter. After all, at this point, she didn't feel that she *deserved* the Phantom, if he was everything he seemed to be on the surface: kind, thoughtful, good-looking, a wonderful singer. But, if he were more like *her*, then maybe he could begin to like her as she did him. Just maybe.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the caves. The Angel realized that she had wandered rather close to the entrance, and began to grow worried. What if someone was looking for her? She wanted to hide, but didn't know anywhere to turn. After all, Phantom was out running some errands or something, and she couldn't tell *exactly* where she was, so she couldn't make a break for his home. Thus, she decided to turn and face the threat head-on.

Thankfully, the "threat" wasn't very much so at all. Instead, a young couple emerged from the darkness, a man and a woman. The man had long, light hair that was tied back in a low ponytail, and was wearing a fancy-looking suit. The woman was dressed in a clean white gown, with her brown ringlets tied back almost carelessly. They noticed the Angel and approached.

"Hello, Mademoiselle," the man said, giving her a short bow, "I am looking for someone, and was hoping you could help us find her."

Angel stepped back, wary, "Oh? Who are you looking for?"

"She is called the Angel of the Opera," the woman said, "We have come to give her a warning."

Angel paused a moment, assessing the situation. Seeing that she had nothing to lose, replied, "I am she. What is this warning you speak of?"

"Your tutor, the Phantom of the Opera," the man began, "He is not who you may think he is. He is a known murderer, and has killed dozens of people during his time inhabiting the opera. We think that it would be a good idea to discontinue your lessons with him, in case something bad happens to you, as well."

"Is that so?" Angel asked not concerned at all, "Well, that doesn't really surprise me. After all, how else is he supposed to reinforce his demands? A strongly-worded letter?"

The other woman was taken aback, "I know that you may be a little confused, living secluded for your entire life," she said in an elaborating tone, "But human life is sacred. You should not take it simply to make a point!"

"Try telling that to my captor!" Angel snapped, "*He* of all people should be told that, *not* Erik! Erik would only kill when it was necessary, I can tell, but my *father* would abuse me just for the fun of it!" The man and the woman exchanged uneasy glances.

"What if we told you," the man said, "That the Phantom of the Opera killed your father, for no good reason?" Angel seemed shocked, and he continued, "We found him hanging outside the entrance to the cave."

"We didn't want to tell you," the other woman said, "But you don't seem to realize that your Erik is a very dangerous man. If you don't want to end up like your father, you should leave him for good."

"Did he really do that?" Angel asked, wonder in her eyes, "For me?"

"Excuse me?" the man asked.

"Erik knew that my jailer was on the hunt for me," she explained, "And I sincerely feared for my life. The man was going to beat me every day for a year for sneaking out *once*, what do you suppose he would do if he found me gone overnight? So Erik obviously spared me from his terrible wrath in the best way that he knew how. Do you not think that my father would have eventually found a way to take me back, if he were left alive? Do you not think that a man who would torture me every day, without remorse, would not kill me for breaking his highest commandment?"

"Yes," the brown-haired woman said quickly, "But he was your *father*!"

"Only by title," Angel replied harshly, "He would never treat me like a daughter."

"Would that be because you do not *deserve* to be treated like his daughter?" the man asked boldly.

Angel's eyes narrowed, "I do not know *what* he may have told you," she said darkly, "But I can guarantee you that they are *lies*. I know for a fact that he tells terrible stories about me. 'Why do you stay up in the attic so long?' someone asks him, and he says, 'I have to watch my hideous gargoyle of a daughter. If I do not, she will leave and terrorize the opera house.' Or, sometimes, he will go further and say something like, 'If I do not keep an eye on her, she will escape and hide somewhere in the opera house. She practices Wiccan, you know, and will cast a spell on the whole theatre it things do not go her way.' But none of them are *true*!" Angel was almost crying, "He would tell me what he had told someone every day when he would check in on me, just to make sure I knew that I would have no friends, should I ever escape. You must believe me when I say that *I* never did anything to deserve his harsh treatment." She turned away from them, letting a tear fall, "I am *glad* he is dead."

The woman sighed, exasperated, "I am sorry for your bad relationship with your father," she said, "But I would like to return to the topic at hand. I am *telling* you, as his former student, that the Phantom of the Opera is dangerous. He made a chandelier fall because of *me*!"

"As I recall," Angel counter-pointed, realizing that she was talking to Christine Daae, "He was angry because of your relationship with a man who was – now what word his Erik used to describe him? – homosexual. *I* would never do that to poor Erik."

The man looked angry, "I am *not* homosexual," he growled. However, the women chose to ignore him.

"You are being very stubborn," Christine said, "The *cause* is not the issue here, it is the *principal*. If he is willing to ruin an entire opera house, simply because I want romantic freedom, he is clearly *not* a man that anyone should be around. Right?"

"I do not know," Angel said, slightly aloof, "I have not had much experience with *normal* men."

"The Phantom of the Opera is *not* normal, though!" the man who Angel realized was the Vicomte de Chagny said, "He is an insane sociopath with a taste for blood! And he is rather deformed, as well." It seemed like he was trying to play a card geared more toward vanity, but Angel ignored it. In fact, she was *thrilled* that there was something to bring Erik to her level, but she did not show it.

The Angel's expression turned hard, "I am *finished* discussing this with you," she said, "I refuse to abandon Erik as you did, Mademoiselle Daae. Please leave, and *never* return." A glint of metal shown in a pocket of her dress – a knife that she had stolen from her former-jailer from her days in the attic. Of course, she had no intent upon *using* the weapon, but it worked well to scare off the couple. They gave her a look of almost pity, turned and left. Angel could hear the man say something about "dangerous" and "crazy", but she ignored them at the time.

However, when Erik returned a few moments later, she collapsed into his arms and sobbed.


	11. Chapter 11

Two hours later, Angel was standing in front of the managers' door, quite nervous and seriously contemplating turning around and going back to Erik's lair. She could not figure out what had compelled her to agree to sing onstage in the first place. Perhaps it was the small amount of pressure from Phantom, perhaps it was out of an odd type of revenge against Christine and Raoul for making her feel bad, but either way the outcome was the same: she was about to expose herself to two men of whom she did not know and attempt to gain a part in an upcoming opera. Not *that* hard.

She took a deep breath and walked inside. Angel was wearing a long-sleeved, blue satin gown that she had to have taken in a little, it being a size too big for her. However, it was better than wearing the one that Erik had offered, claiming that it would fit: that one exposed her back, and she certainly could not have that. Despite knowing that Erik would not judge her for the scar, Angel nevertheless wanted to keep up the charade of perfection just a little while longer. Until the play that he promised she would be in was over, at least.

At the time of her entry, the two men who were clearly the managers were in a fierce argument, "Firmin," one said forcefully, "We *cannot* let this- this *Phantom* push us around like this! I will admit, his suggestion of Mademoiselle Daae was a smart move, but it is *ludicrous* of him to expect us to change singers on a whim! Doesn't he realize how much this will cost us?"

"We cannot refuse, though!" the man that must have been Firmin counter-argued, "You said it yourself, Andre: Christine was a *very* good choice. If he says that this new one will be even better, who are *we* to make premature assumptions? Besides, I am sure you recall *last* time we didn't take his, erm, "advice" when it came to picking our leads." It was at that point the two men realized the subject of their discussion was standing in the doorway.

"We apologize, Mademoiselle," Monsieur Andre said, embarrassed, "We did not notice you there. Would you come in?" Angel stepped inside, and he continued, "I take it you were the one the Phantom of the Opera sent? And I would like you to know that we would not do this sort of thing under *any* other circumstances. Usually, you must go through a long and tiresome process to even-."

"I believe you are boring her," Firmin interjected, then he turned to Angel, "I apologize for my friend's rudeness, he has… authority problems, it seems." Andre gave a harrumph, but Firmin and Angel ignored him, "Now, the Opera Ghost said that you come from unusual circumstances. I am not sure what he means, exactly, but we must establish a baseline to see what we have to work with. You can read, correct?"

Angel nodded vigorously, "Yes, I can read well." Andre cringed, and she realized that the men may not take her if she kept speaking in her somewhat broken manner. She made a mental note to make her sentences more… was "legato" the word? Still, the point was there.

"And can you memorize an opera?" Firmin asked, beginning to take notes on a piece of paper.

Angel nodded again, smiling, "Yes, in only a few days," she said, trying her best to make the words flow smoothly, "And I can learn it even faster if you let me see a script!" The two managers exchanged a glance. Angel could not tell what the look meant, but it did not look *negative*.

"Do you know how to dance?" Firmin proceeded, scribbling something on the pad.

Her spirits fell a bit, "Not exactly," she said, "But I can learn very quickly."

"Well, that *helps*," Firmin mumbled, writing.

"You are forgetting the most important thing, Firmin!" Andre broke in, "*Singing*!" he turned to Angel, "Can you sing?"

"I'm sure the Phantom wouldn't have requested her if she couldn't…" Firmin mumbled, but became quiet after that. He wanted to hear the girl's response.

"I think so," she said, "Would you like a demonstration?" The two men nodded slowly. With their confirmation, Angel inhaled deeply and sang. She chose the melody that she had come up with herself this time, instead of going with a song from an established opera. In her opinion, that song gave a very good definition of her broad range, and accented her best vocal features, making it ideal for an audition such as this. True, Erik had not finished writing the lyrics for the tune yet, but she believed that the message would ring loud and clear even without them.

And it did.

When she finished singing, she looked at them expectantly. Any trace of her former nervousness was gone: she hated to be overconfident, but she *knew* that she had done a good job. For the next minute or two, all the managers could do was sit there and stare. It was quite humorous for a while, but Angel quickly became worried. Had she done something to them with her voice? Could voices *do* such a thing as paralyze men?

Apparently not. Soon, they came out of their stupor and regained their composure.

"That was quite lovely," Andre said, straightening his collar, "And *how* many lessons have you had from this Phantom, did you say?"

"I did not say," Angel replied, "And the answer is one."

"One…" Firmin wheezed, disbelief in his eyes and he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Well, then," Andre said, clearing his throat and giving Firmin's notes a once-over, "I believe we have no choice but to cast you in an opera, then."

Angel beamed, "Really? This is very exciting!" She threw her arms around Andre, "Thank you very much for giving me this opportunity!"

"Yes, yes, very good," the man muttered, gently prying her off of him, "Now, we will supply you with your costumes and the script immediately. I take it you want them to be sent through the Phantom of the Opera?"

"That would be nice, thank you," the Angel said.

"We appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to meet with us," Firmin said as Angel began to leave, "For more reasons than one." She was about to leave on a positive note when she overheard Firmin ask Andre, "Now, what are we going to do about Mademoiselle Daae?" Angel bit her lip as she made her way back to the caverns. She had forgotten about her.

Angel could not help but feel a little bad for the young soprano, after all. *Just* when she had begun to get recognition for her work, Angel had supplanted her in Erik's mind (and, hopefully, heart) and she would likely never acquire a lead role again. Christine had not even overcome Carlotta yet, and here she was, stealing the show! Yes, Angel was still angry at Daae for what had happened earlier that day, and for hurting the Phantom like she had when she went off with Raoul, but she still felt pity for the poor girl. She could only imagine what it felt like to have your dreams realized, then have them ripped from your grasp just as you were about to fully enjoy them. Then again, she thought uneasily, if the Vicomte got his way, she might have the chance know firsthand.

Angel had noticed immediately upon meeting Raoul that he had disliked her, but she had thought that it was simply because she was taking his lover's place in the opera and it was standard procedure to dislike your girlfriend's enemy. However, as the discussion had gone on, she realized that Christine did not *dislike* her – not actively, anyway -, and Raoul's anger was on a more personal level. Whether it was for the above stated reason, or because he simply hated anyone associated with the Phantom, or a mixture of both, the message was clear: Raoul did not want Angel around, and that scared her. Thankfully, she thought as she walked through the Opera House, there was nothing the Vicomte could do about it.

She hoped.


	12. Chapter 12

While Angel was busy securing her role in the next opera, Christine and Raoul were off in Christine's dressing room, planning their next move.

"What should we do now, Raoul?" Christine asked, sitting in a chair dejectedly, "No doubt the Angel is convincing Messieurs Andre and Firmin to give her a lead in the next play as we speak. After they hear her, if what Phantom says is true, I shall be stuck in supporting roles for the rest of my singing days!" She hated sounding so self-centered, but she couldn't help it: all those years of taking lessons from Erik, pointless!

Raoul shook his head and sighed, "And it isn't as if *we* have the resources to bring down a chandelier to convince them to let you sing again…" He stopped, then looked up, thinking.

Christine leaned forward in her seat, "What is it? Do you have an idea?" She was eager to know *anything* that may get her the spotlight onstage again.

"I was just wondering," the Vicomte said slowly, a thoughtful look on his face, "Why a presumably innocent girl would be locked in an attic since childhood. If she is as guiltless as she *claims* to be, then what cause would her father have to keep her there, away from everyone else? I am just wondering, because the answer might be the break we need to get your part back."

Christine shrugged, excitement gone, "Perhaps her jailer was just crazy?" Then she began to seriously ponder the question as well, "Then again, he did not *seem* very crazy when we spoke with him. Hm, that is a *very* good question, Raoul. And the answer couldn't be that she was diseased or something like that, otherwise she would be dead by now, or at least most of the company would be infected."

"Maybe," Raoul said, "Just *maybe* she is evil, as her father was trying to tell us. She is certainly rude enough. If she is, and we could prove it, Phantom would have no choice but to take you back and keep the Angel of the Opera off the stage!"

Mademoiselle Daae rolled her eyes, "Oh, come off it. Just because she said you were homosexual does *not* mean she is evil. She simply has not been around the concept of "manners" long enough to be able to tell what is right and wrong to say." She then added as an aside, "And with a keeper like hers, I am surprised she didn't turn out worse than she did."

"But back on topic," Raoul interrupted her thoughts, "I recall the man saying that she was horrendous, once you saw past her beauty. If he was not talking about her personality – which is still a possibility -, perhaps he was talking about some sort of scar or deformity?"

Christine furrowed her brow, "Well, it would have to be *very* terrible to warrant a father's hate, to the point of trying to keep her in the attic for the rest of her life." Her mind briefly flashed to Phantom, who had experienced a similar predicament when he was a lad. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide, as she realized what her fiancé was implying, "You don't plan to-?"

"It's the only way," he replied quickly, "If she remains with the Opera, then you will never star again."

"But it's inhumane!" Christine argued, shocked at what Raoul was suggesting, "She will be forever haunted by what we would do to her, I know Phantom will be! Exposing her scar to everyone will only end like it did with Erik: in tears and death threats. Besides, what would we do with *him*? Obviously the Phantom of the Opera will be watching his Angel's musical debut and will rescue her the moment he notices anything odd going on."

"But, *Christine*!" Raoul pleaded, "Can you not see? Exposing her in front of the crowds is the *only* way! Threats would do us no good, and we wouldn't dare intimidate her with physical violence, lest the Phantom of the Opera interfere. If the audience sees her scar while she is performing, she will be too much in shame to ever show her face again on the main floor ever again, and your career is restored! As for taking care of the Phantom, that is *your* part in the plan."

Christine's eyes grew wide, "No, I-"

"All you need to do is make sure he is distracted while I show the audience Angel's scar," Raoul interrupted, "He could never know that you were in on it. Simply tell him that you wish to apologize for your past behavior. Believe me, he will not be paying *any* attention to the stage."

Christine shook her head, "No, I refuse to take part in the public humiliation of another innocent individual. Can't you see? I will *never* forgive myself for what I did to Erik, I will *not* do that to *anyone* ever again, even if it is in an indirect way. I simply cannot."

Raoul paused a moment, then nodded, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "Of course, dear. If you do not want to distract Phantom, I cannot force you."

Christine relaxed a little, "Thank you, Raoul. Do you have another plan?"

He shook his head, expression a bit cold, "No, I do not. I will think of something, though." He rose frigidly, "I must leave you now, I have… things to do." Without another word, Christine's future husband walked out the door. Mademoiselle Daae sat back in her seat, a little worried. Raoul had never treated her like *that* before. Yes, he *had* just given up on a plan he was obviously ready to implement because she did not approve, but he would *usually* let such a thing roll off his back. She rubbed the back of her neck, pensive look on her face. She hated when he wasn't direct with her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

For a moment, she really wished she hadn't chosen Raoul.


	13. Chapter 13

And so the days began to pass. Phantom taught Angel everything she needed to know about the opera she was to star in, she in turn learned her role perfectly, and Christine worried about Raoul. Even Meg had to admit, when the young soprano asked her during rehearsal, that the Vicomte de Chagny was acting in a bizarre fashion lately. Whereas before he would make it a point to visit her every day in her dressing room, now he seemed to stay away, regarding Christine only with a cold stare every once in a while. The young woman hoped that he was simply angry with her for standing by her morals and refusing to take part in his plan, but she sensed something else coming from him. He watched her as if she wasn't on his side anymore. Mademoiselle Daae shuddered to think about it.

Meanwhile, Angel's voice lessons with the Phantom proceeded without a hitch. Using the only technique that he knew would work for her, he would begin with the first verse of a song, only to have her complete the rest of it herself. He had worried that her dependence on someone to start the song for her would be a problem while performing the opera, but after looking at the script he could breathe a sigh of relief: each of her singing parts were preceded by another character's voice. No, what worried him now was the girl himself.

As the days had gone by, the pair had grown very close: almost *too* close for Phantom. While he hadn't planned to keep his protégée at arm's length – no, that would be absurd –, he had been afraid of becoming good friends with her. And, yet, he had, leaving him in almost-constant dread. Although they were all but inseparable – she would hardly go anywhere without him, and he liked to take her on his trips to the main floor -, Angel still did not know for certain *why* he wore his mask all the time, for Erik refused to tell her directly about his mangled face. If Christine's terrible reaction had been any indication, the moment Angel found out what was under his mask, she might leave him: an action that would kill him on the inside. After all, Angel was pure, unbiased and innocent: if someone like that could do such a thing to him, then nobody could. Thus, he decided that it would be best to not give her the chance: she could never know of his deformity.

Still, his own mind would counter-argue, she would have to figure it out sometime. Would it not be better to take the initiative and let her know than for her to find out on her own and distrust him? He kept going over possible scenarios in his head: the best being that she did not mind it, the worst being that she did and ran away. All the while, the though never occurred to him that Angel may have had something to hide, as well. All this was finally realized after a voice lesson, two days before his pupil's official musical debut.

"Very good work today, Angel," Phantom said, rising from behind the piano, "I do not believe you have the human capability to improve any further. The audience will not know what has hit them." She beamed, as she always did after receiving praise from her mentor.

"Thank you very much," she said. Erik could tell that her speech was improving rapidly. "I cannot thank you *enough* for all that you have done for me. There is no way I could ever repay you for the kindnesses you have done me over the past few days." She walked forward and locked him in another of her usual embraces. He made a mental note to let her know that most people did not do that very frequently nowadays. However, before he could let her know that fact, she knocked against his mask, displacing it so that quite a bit of the defect was visible. He quickly re-adjusted it, but it was too late: Angel had seen that something was wrong.

"What was that?" she asked quickly, alarmed.

"Nothing," Phantom said, trying to act casual, "Nothing at all."

"Was that… a scar?" she asked, a look of fascination on her face as she reached out to remove the mask. Erik stepped back quickly, avoiding her grasp.

"I would rather we didn't discuss it at this time," he said, "You should not get distracted so easily. I think we should go over your part right now. Why don't we go over scene twelve from last night?"

She wouldn't take the bait, "Oh, please?" she begged, "Could you take off your mask? For me? I apologize for asking like this, but… I want to make sure that I'm not the only one who is different around here." Erik was torn. Days of arguing with himself over the subject of Angel finding out, and here was the problem staring him in the face. After a moment of careful thought, he made his decision.

"Are you *sure* you want to know?" he asked, "I cannot stress how much I would like it if you said that you aren't, but I want you to make your own choice. But bear in mind: whatever happens after this point is a consequence of your decision." Slowly, silently, Angel nodded. Taking a deep breath, Erik took off the mask, displaying his mutilated excuse for a face. He braced himself for the impending screams of terror, but none came. He was quite ready to console her hysteria, or stop her from running, but she did not budge. She only stared, an intrigued look on her face.

"Well?" he asked finally, "Aren't you going to say something? Shriek about my hideousness? Claw your eyes out for allowing them to witness such a sight as me?"

Angel shook her head, "Of course not! It doesn't look *that* bad, believe me. Why, the way you lead me on about it, I thought that I would see something *truly* terrible. I mean, you hardly *need* a mask for *that*!" Phantom looked at her for a moment, then gave a small smile.

"Do you really think that?" he asked dryly, "Or are you simply in shock?"

"Trust me," she said, "I have seen *far* worse. Heck, I could probably *show* you far worse on myself, something I might do one day. But now, it is late. I believe I shall be going off to bed soon." With a stifled yawn, she left him, still standing by the piano, still deeply touched by her words of kindness.

Perhaps, he thought, he would let them be more than simplt close friends.


	14. Chapter 14

And then came the fateful night of the opera. Looking back on it, everyone could only wonder what could have been done to prevent such a tragedy from occurring. After all, they probably all could have seen what had happened coming, if they had been looking for it. Unfortunately, nobody had anticipated the disaster, and, by the time anyone knew what was taking place, it was too late.

It began as the Angel of the Opera was in a dressing room, preparing for her role. She had a long sapphire gown on which hid her scars nicely and pristine white gloves. A woman had come in earlier to do her makeup, and, she had to admit, she looked pretty good. Angel, strangely, was not worried about going onstage to sing. After refusing to perform for an audience for the longest time, she could only wonder why she felt no qualms about doing it now, in front of what Andre and Firmin promised to be one of the largest audiences yet. Allegedly, this was the first run of a superbly reviewed opera that she would be doing tonight, and she would be singing alongside an all-star cast, including many popular singers who had been brought in from smaller theatres and their very own Christine Daae in a supporting role that was nothing to sneeze at. Furthermore, the managers had apparently circulated the story of her being a fallen angel around, further boosting the viewership numbers, as of course many would come simply to prove or debunk the myth of a heavenly creature serenading them that night. Yes, she was very excited for her theatrical debut.

Then it came as no surprise to her that Erik came to visit her about half an hour before she was set to begin. He had appeared from behind her dressing room mirror, and was clad in his usual black ensemble and contrasting white mask – a rather pointless accessory, as she already told him that his deformity only made him look better – and holding a bouquet of roses, tied together with black ribbon. The Phantom looked happy for her, but an air of worry sat about him.

"Why, hello, Erik!" Angel said, excitement in her voice, "Can you believe it? I am finally going to star in an opera! All those rehearsals with Madame Giry, every one of your voice lessons and all those years of watching people act onstage are all coming down to this! I am thrilled!"

The Phantom nodded, setting the roses onto the vanity, "Yes. Never fear, though, you will do impeccably, as always. I just wish Christine were here to witness your triumph." Like Mademoiselle Daae, he had in the recent past voiced to Angel thoughts about patching things up with his former-obsession. He had assured her that there would be no romantic involvement, and she was positive that he had been telling the truth.

Her brow furrowed, "What do you mean? She will be onstage right beside me, will she not?"

"No," Phantom replied, shaking his head, "She and one of the baritones mysteriously went missing a few hours ago, and nobody can seem to locate the pair." She shot him a look, and he quickly continued, "I, of course, had absolutely *no* involvement in this act. After all, I would *hate* to unleash Christine's understudy upon the stage."

"You mean Signora Carlotta?" Angel asked, "I agree, it would not be good if Christine does not return before the show begins." Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Mademoiselle Angel?" a male voice said from outside the door, "It is time for rehearsal."

"Rehearsal?" Erik asked, "Didn't you just run through the entire opera a little while ago?"

"Yes," Angel said, "But I suppose, knowing her, Carlotta will want to go over a couple of her scenes, to make sure she has them down. That is, anyway, what she has wanted us to do at every *other* rehearsal."

Phantom rolled his eyes, "I'm sure. I shall be seeing you, then." He began to step behind the mirror, "I will be sitting in Box Five, as usual, and I'll make sure that nothing happens."

"What do you mean?" Angel asked. Now she was becoming concerned. First Christine disappearing, now even *Phantom* was going to be watching for something odd? This might not end as well as she had hoped.

"Oh, never fear," he said soothingly, "Nothing will happen, most likely. However, what with Christine being gone and all, I want to be on the lookout for anything that may bring your opera to an abrupt end." With that, he was gone, disappeared into the passage behind the mirror. Angel was tempted to follow, but she had a duty. With a sigh, she left the dressing room to presumably practice with Carlotta.

The half hour of extra rehearsal went by faster than Angel thought that it would. It seemed as though, after being put in her place by both her *and* Christine, *then* having her mildly obese husband killed, Carlotta had become a little more docile during the routine, much to the relief of everyone that had to work with her that evening. There were no screaming matches, no temper tantrums, just a small group of people getting in some extra singing time before the show. It was quite relaxing, actually.

Before she knew it, though, Angel was onstage, singing away to a tune that sounded a bit like the song she had composed. She was sure that Erik had something to do with this, perhaps he got his hands on the score before the managers and did a bit of editing, but she did not have much time to consider such things while she acted. Her character was onstage quite a bit of the time, and she hardly had time for any costume changes between scenes. She also had probably one of the most rigorous singing parts she had ever come across, and, in her opinion, she had done reasonably well. It seemed the audience shared her view, as they applauded wildly for her as they watched the tale of her character unfold.

Apparently, she was playing a Russian czarina in England during the times of Robin Hood. True, it was not typical material for a very commercial opera, but it was a fresh and new idea that had the audience hanging on the edge of their seats. Her role was lively and imaginative, dampened only by the fact that Carlotta, in the part of the czarina's friend Maid Marian, was in many of the scenes with her. These were the thoughts that distracted her as she went on with the show, before she realized that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

She first noticed something when the man who played King Richard approached. It was toward the end of the second act, and the action was heating up, preparing the viewers for the final fight scene at the end that would decide who was to be the ruler of England. The man had begun to sing, and Angel immediately realized that it was not the person who had usually done the part. She knew that the baritone that was assigned to the role was, then, the one that had gone missing, and this was just his understudy, but she felt uneasy. There was an odd familiarity about the voice that scared her. She wanted to look behind her to make sure that she did not know the man and that her fears were a product of the imagination, but the script dictated that she must have her back to the character of the King at all times. She knew, however, that the part called for her to turn around once he had finished his song, and she managed to keep her back to him until then.

Still, something else was wrong. Immediately after the baritone finished the scripted lyrics, he added his own. As he did, Angel realized what was going to happen, but it was too late. The man sang softly:

"Princess, Princess!

Lend me thine ear!

Princess, Princess!

There is news you must hear!

For I am King Richard,

The Brave and the Bold!

I hear you've a secret-

That must be told!"

Angel turned around in a whirlwind and stared her adversary straight in his horrible, awful eyes.

"No!" she cried as he tore open the back of her dress…

Meanwhile, Phantom was off attending to other matters. He had begun the night as he promised: watching Angel, sitting in Box Five and keeping an eye on her. The performance was especially riveting, which he attributed to both the interesting new plot concept and the actors onstage. However, when it was almost the end of the second act, a knock came from the door.

"Monsieur?" Madame Giry's voice came from outside, "I have a note for you. I do not know who it is from, but it the envelope says that it is of the utmost importance." Erik opened the door carefully and took the note from the woman.

"Thank you," he said, then nodded, dismissing her. She turned away and he shut the door, opening the envelope and reading its contents.

_Phantom of the Opera,_

_ I hope you are having a nice time watching the show tonight. I must admit, it is a pity that Christine Daae did not have the pleasure of participating in it this time, she ran into some trouble. I would suggest, if you knew what was best for your former love interest, to take a look in her dressing room before I go back for her._

_ Sincerely, Anonymous_

Phantom looked up from the note, mind racing. Someone had kidnapped Christine! He *had* to go and save her. After all, he had to do *something* to show her that he meant no ill-will. Also the fact that it sounded like an insane fan was holding her hostage in her room, but that was inconsequential. It never crossed his mind to ask himself why someone would kidnap a woman, only to give her back only a matter of hours later.

He reached Christine's room in a flash, dashing through the deserted halls as opposed to navigating the tunnels. He could vaguely hear the opera going on nearby; they had almost reached the King Richard scene. He had always thought that this particular part was one of the best and most dramatic: there was the young czarina, standing alone in the woods when King Richard comes up behind her, frightening her badly before he finally reveals himself a number of singing lines later.

Phantom broke into Christine's room quickly and efficiently only to find her, to his horror, bound to a chair and gagged. He quickly undid the gag and questioned her as he worked on the ropes that kept her to the chair.

"What happened?" he asked quickly, "Who did this to you?"

"It's Raoul!" she said frantically, "He is crazy, I tell you! He keeps talking about revenge for me, revenge against you and doing something about Angel. Oh, please, Erik, you've got to believe me when I tell you that I wanted *no* part in this! Yes, a few days ago I may have desired to exact my revenge against you and your new student, but now I know that what Raoul wants to do is simply inhumane!"

"What does he want to do?" Phantom asked, undoing the last of Mademoiselle Daae's knots, "Why did he kidnap and tie you up like this?" Suddenly, a loud cry resounded throughout the Paris Opera House. Angel's scream.

Christine looked pale, "To distract you."

Fueled by passion, Phantom raced up to the theatre area and got there instantaneously, but he was too late to spare her. There she was on the stage, Raoul in the King Richard costume, holding her, with a good deal of her costume torn off, revealing hideous scars and deformities across her body: her legs, arms, torso and *especially* her back were covered with malformations of the skin and underlying muscles. The crowd was silent, staring at the spectacle with mouths agape.

Then they burst into applause.

"I knew that this play was written for surprises," one man commented in front of Phantom and Christine, "But I couldn't see *this* coming! Who knew that the Princess was deformed? Superb plot twist!"

"So *that* is why they sent her out of Russia!" another said, a look of realization on his face, "It was to keep their family's good name! After all, nobody would know that she even existed halfway across the Earth! Good show! Bravo!"

In the midst of all this sensation, Phantom made his way through the standing crowd and toward the stage. Once he and Christine reached it, though, there was no trace of Angel anywhere. Thankfully, there *was* a trace of the Vicomte.

"There!" Christine cried, pointing to a coattail vanishing around a corner, "There he goes!"

"And probably with Angel," Erik growled as they pressed ahead, past actors and set pieces, hot on Raoul's tail. The pair only hoped that they would be able to reach the Raoul and Angel in time, before anything else happened.

They didn't.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: I realize that my last version of this chapter was pretty sub-par, so I decided to add some extra content that was not in the original. I hope it's better ;)!**

As he and Christine ran frantically through the theatre, Phantom could only think of how badly he was going to mangle Raoul by the time this was over. First the Vicomte had stolen Christine, then he threatened his life on multiple occasions (which, admittedly, were very weak attempts on Raoul's part), and now he had kidnapped Angel. What had *he* done to deserve this kind of treatment?

"Which way did he go?" Christine asked, struggling to move at Phantom's frenzied pace.

"To the left," Erik replied shortly, adjusting his mask slightly, "I think he's heading for your dressing room."

Christine sighed and mumbled to herself, "*Why* did I give him that key?" She then looked at Phantom, "I don't understand why he is doing this to the two of you. I mean, sure, *you* killed some people, but it isn't as if you stole me from him or ruined his career or anything. And we both know that Angel has never done anything wrong."

Phantom shook his head, "Neither do I. But, look-" he pointed down the hall, "We're almost there." They approached the room quickly and flung open the door, only to find Raoul standing there, looking smug and holding Angel by the arm. And he had a knife.

"Let her go!" Phantom barked at him, fury in his eyes.

"Why should I?" Raoul snapped back, holding the knife above Angel's heart, "*She* has ruined Christine's career! She will never star in an opera again! This monster must pay!"

"What are you *doing*, Raoul?" Christine asked, "*My* career certainly isn't worth a life! Angel is innocent, why must you threaten her like this? Besides, I do not *need* to star in every opera, it isn't that important."

"It is important to *me*," Raoul said, looking desperate, "We will go into the poorhouse if we do not receive the extra money you would earn from starring, Christine."

"What?" the young soprano asked, confused, "You are royalty, you can't be *poor*."

Raoul winced, nodding, "Being of a pure bloodline doesn't mean that you cannot squander your riches on frivolous things. Christine, we have virtually *no* money left, after I invested in the opera." He looked angry again, pressing the knife harder against Angel, "*That* is why she must die. She is the only thing standing between us and moderate wealth."

"Release her now," Phantom said darkly, "And I *may* spare your life. Even though, I must point out, if you resort to *this* to replenish your bank, you are scum that doesn't deserve to live, *anyway*."

"You seem to forget," Raoul said with a cruel smile, "That *I* am the one holding the knife, here. Even if you *do* kill me, your precious Angel will be dead."

Erik looked pained, "What do you want?" he said weakly, "Spare her life, and I will do whatever you ask." He was a mix of emotions: fury at Raoul, pity on Christine for being dumb enough to *marry* such a man, fear for Angel's life… It was almost too much for him to handle.

"Enticing offer," the Vicomte replied calmly, "But I must decline. After all, even if she *wasn't* the only thing in between me and money, she is a monster, like you. One, I believe, is enough for a single opera house, don't you think?"

Angel whimpered and spoke for the first time during the encounter, "Monsieur Chagny, please let me go. You do not know what you are doing. It would be better if you thought this through a little more."

"I am *done* putting this off!" the Vicomte shouted angrily. He turned to Phantom, "Say good bye to your little girlfriend." Erik had to act fast in order to save Angel's life. In a split-second decision that he may not have been able to make under any other circumstances, he grabbed Christine by the arm and pulled her roughly toward him, grabbing her neck.

"I'm sorry I have to do this, Christine," he said quietly into her ear, "But it's my only choice." He could see Raoul's eyes go wide with shock, and Phantom spoke in his normal tone of voice, "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. After all, you wouldn't want your little soprano getting hurt, would you?"

Raoul's eyes narrowed, "You're bluffing. You would not dare hurt Christine."

Erik gave a wry smile, "Wouldn't I?" he tightened his grip minutely, and Mademoiselle Daae shouted in faux-pain, going along with his unspoken plan, "Now, Raoul, I am finished playing your childish game with you. Why don't you let go of Angel, and I will let go of Christine, and we may both go on our merry way?" Raoul stared at him for a second, and Phantom prayed that the man wouldn't call him on his facade. The Phantom knew that he wouldn't be able to hurt Christine if Raoul didn't obey him, and he feared that the Vicomte de Chagny knew that.

Thankfully, Raoul lowered his knife, "Fine. You release Christine, first."

Phantom raised a mildly amused eyebrow at him, "You insult my intelligence. Nay, it is *Angel* who will be set free before your girlfriend. I cannot have you trying to fool *me*, of all people."

With an angry look, Raoul dropped his weapon to the floor and relinquished his hold on the Angel of the Opera, who quickly scurried to the other end of the room. In turn, Christine was released, and she went over to Angel in an attempt to comfort her. Obviously, this was quite a bit to deal with for someone who had only been out in the real world - if you can even call it that - for a tad over a week.

The two men looked at each other for a moment after that, tension building in the air. Suddenly, Raoul snapped and leapt at the Phantom in a fury. Thankfully for him, Erik had been expecting this sort of thing, and quickly picked up a fencing sword that he had seen on a display in the room only a moment ago and prepared to fend Raoul off with it. Unfortunately, the Vicomte had had the same idea, and drew his own blade. Phantom thought back not-so-fondly of the sword fight he had against Raoul not so long ago: he had lost.

Nevertheless, he *had* to try, so he fought fiercely against Raoul. They ducked, dodged and parried in a whirl of black cape and blue overcoat. Hatred burned in Raoul's eyes, but passion burned in Phantom's. This time, he realized as the pair managed to maintain their ground, Phantom had something tangible to fight for: Angel. Before, Christine's love had only been a hope, a prayer for him, but he knew that Angel adored him like no other on this Earth: she saw past his deformity easily and without fear. Then again, he thought, she wouldn't exactly be one to talk.

The two men fought for what seemed like hours before one of them began to lose their ground. Sadly, that man was Erik. Despite his best attempts, be realized that his mere dabbling in swordplay was no match for a man whose childhood curriculum had likely mostly consisted of math, grammar and fencing. He shot Christine and Angel a look telling them to leave, as there was no telling what Raoul would do after he had incapacitated Phantom. The two women did not budge, however, too horror-stricken by the fact that Phantom was losing, much to the masked one's dismay.

With one last attempt to disarm the Vicomte, Phantom lunged forward and struck him, tearing the shoulder of his blue coat. Unfortunately, this gave Raoul the opening he needed. He struck Phantom in the side and removed his weapon easily. The blow hadn't wounded him too badly, but it knocked him back, leaving the Opera Ghost perfectly vulnerable. This time, though, Christine couldn't use reason to talk Raoul out of bringing Phantom to a premature demise.

"Raoul, *no*!" Christine shouted. Before Raoul could plunge the sword into what would have probably ended up being Erik's heart, though, Angel, in a display of loyalty none of them had never seen before, leapt onto Raoul's back, temporarily distracting him. The young woman wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly as the Vicomte did everything in his power to remove her. Finally, the man remembered his weapon.

"I don't have time for this," he muttered, and then took his sword and slashed the side of Angel's neck. She collapsed onto the ground, unmoving and bleeding quite heavily.

That was it for Phantom. That was simply *it*. Forgetting about the pain in his side and ignoring every instinct in him that told him that this was a bad idea, he strode forward quickly and took Raoul by the neck, "For that," he said coldly, "You die." He tightened his grip on the Vicomte's neck, but did not notice that the man still had the sword in his hand. However, Christine did. As Raoul was about to destroy the Phantom of the Opera as he assumed he'd destroyed the Angel, the woman that he thought he was going to marry came up behind him and struck him over the head with a rather heavy-looking chair. Raoul fell to the ground as Phantom released him, and he and Christine stared down at the attempted-assassin. Then Erik's attention returned to Angel.

"Angel?" he asked quickly, fearfully, dropping to his knees by her side, "Can you hear me? Oh, please, God, let her hear me!" He stroked the side of her face gently, almost tearfully. He never paid attention to the scars running along most of her frame.

Christine made for the door, "I am going to summon a doctor!" she said, but, as she opened the door, she came face-to-face with Madame Giry, holding a medical bag in one hand and cane in the other.

"Never fear, Mademoiselle," the older woman said in a calm voice, "I am just as good as one, in this case." She knelt next to Phantom and began to attend to Angel, "I saw what the Vicomte did on the stage and figured that he must have come here. After all, there are few other places fitting for a confrontation of this nature."

"Is she going to live?" Erik asked pleadingly as soon as Madame moved to checking on the unconscious Raoul, "Please tell me that she is going to live!"

"I have good news and bad news," Giry said slowly. Phantom and Christine's breath caught. The woman continued, "The good news is that Angel is going to live with only minor long-term damage." The pair heaved a sigh of relief, "The bad news is, so is Raoul."

"Believe me," Christine said, "By the time I am through with him, he will wish that he didn't."

The next morning, all was peaceful at the Paris Opera House, more peaceful than it had been in years. Despite the previous night's performance needing to be taken over by the understudies, the show was a total hit, and people from all across Europe were scrambling for tickets to see the Angel of the Opera in show. However, even though many advised her against it, Angel told Messieurs Andre and Firmin that Christine Daae must star in just as many operas as she did, to allow the budding soprano a chance to shine, a condition to which the men reluctantly agreed.

The chief of police came by that afternoon to arrest the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny on charges of kidnap and assault, as well as two counts of attempted murder. Christine, his ex-fiancée, personally escorted him to the police vehicle, and used everything in her power to see to it that he got the longest jail sentence possible. Thankfully, with Angel and Madame Giry as witnesses, it was a long time indeed.

As for the Phantom of the Opera himself? After that day, he was never seen again by anyone on the main floor. He stopped collecting his fee from the managers, Box Five was re-opened to the public and there were no more murders in the theatre. Many said that he had simply abandoned the place for somewhere with a darker atmosphere, but a few find it strange that, the day he disappeared, Christine's alleged brother came into town and began to court the Angel. The theorists claim that the man looks nothing like the young soprano (let alone the fact that Christine had always claimed to be an only child), and always wears a white stage mask on the side of his face, the trademark of the Phantom. All that is known for certain on the topic, however, is that the supposed "Erik Daae" and the Angel, after a few months of courting, were wed, on the one-year anniversary of Christine's musical debut.

… _And they all lived happily ever after (except for Raoul, because he does not deserve a happy ending). Until the sequel, anyway ;). Muahahahaha!  
_


End file.
